


in the end, we lie awake

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Character Development, Coming Out, Getting Together, M/M, brady just made a new years resolution, flip chytil is mentioned at some point, kevin hayes is the drunk friend, so is kyle rau, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: “You’ve always been my biggest fan,” Jimmy states, and it’s just a fact. He leaves it out there, and Brady chuckles automatically.In your dreams, 2018 Brady would say.“Always, Ves,” 2019 Brady says.





	in the end, we lie awake

**Author's Note:**

> (the product of sitting in starbucks from 7:00-7:40 am the mornings i don't have hockey). this was _supposed_ to be a nice little new year's resolution fic (that was supposed to go up on january first) but i went through three coldplay albums while writing and it _grew_ , to say the least. 
> 
> title from coldplay's "death and all his friends" from viva la vida.

Brady has never made a New Year’s resolution. 

Sure, he’s thought of it, plenty of times. It’s not hard to think about making one, or two. He’s just never given enough thought, really. 2018 was kind of shit for him, with the sophomore slump, Mac getting traded, and - other things. 

Brady’s on the flight home from St Louis, along with the rest of the team, when he decides that he’s going to actually make a New Year’s resolution. Yeah, like - fuck 2018. 2019 is his fresh start, he’ll start to score more, work harder, pick up the check _more_ , according to his teammates that bashed him on the internet. 

When Jimmy’s walking over to him with two glasses of champagne in his hands (courtesy of Hank), the crooked smile in full force, Brady concludes that his New Year’s resolution is to be true to himself. It’s as simple as that. 

He was shit in college. Not at hockey, but it was all just a blur for him. One minute, he’s cramming the night before a huge exam, the next he’s sitting on the curb next to his dorm, crying and wondering where it all went wrong. 

So, being true to yourself. Something Brady’s never been good at. 

Jimmy hands him the glass of champagne, sitting in the aisle with Brady in the window. Brady flashes Jimmy a grateful smile, and Jimmy returns it, raising his glass, stupidly. They’re not going to make it back in time for the ball drop in the city, but Brady doesn’t really mind, he likes everyone. He’s fine with Jimmy sitting next to him when the New Year rings in. 

Then Haysie’s standing up, drunk from champagne, turning on his phone to show the time, midnight. Everyone’s cheering, as Haysie’s walking up and down the aisle, shouting. Jimmy looks at Brady knowingly, and Brady rolls his eyes, smiling. He sips his champagne, and thinks that 2019 couldn’t be all that bad. 

Haysie reaches Brady and Jimmy, and he’s leaning over Jimmy and Brady can smell his breath. Haysie smiles. 

“It’s midnight, kiss me, Skjei!” Haysie jokes, and Brady rolls his eyes so far that he thinks they’ll pop out of his head. This is typical, Haysie gets drunk and takes it out on Jimmy and him. He glances at Jimmy and he’s - he’s watching Brady’s expression dangerously closely and Brady forgets how to talk. 

“I’ll pass on that!” Brady responds when he finally peels his eyes away from Jimmy. Jimmy looks down to his lap, and it’s obvious he’s uncomfortable. Haysie pulls himself away from Jimmy, just a little bit. 

Haysie takes a swig of champagne. “What, are you two gonna kiss, or some shit?” and _fuck_ , what is breathing? Brady opens his mouth but his tongue is stupid and he really can’t seem to speak to his best friend, even though it’s only during a stupid fucking conversation about kissing Jimmy. 

Jimmy shoves at Haysie’s shoulder. “Fuck off, Haysie!” and he does. Brady looks out the window but everything’s dark and he can’t see. 

“What an idiot,” Jimmy mumbles, and it takes Brady a minute to register that he’s talking about Haysie, not him and his stupid fucking feelings. 

True to yourself. It’s going great. 

-

The next practice isn’t too fun. Jimmy’s rotating in on the _fourth line_. He’s pissed, Brady could tell from a mile away. Anyone could, really. 

Jimmy’s taking a while after practice, talking to coach. Brady patiently waits outside the facility, leaning against the concrete and sticking his airpods into his ears. He muscle-memory makes his way into spotify, shuffling a playlist that’s pretty much all 1D. Not that- you know. Not that it really _matters_. Harry Styles is a fucking _legend_ , and Brady-

“He’s benching me,” Brady whips his head around to see him, Jimmy, hands in his coat pocket and flushed cheeks. Brady furrows his eyebrows but he knows very well how Jimmy feels. 

“Chytil’s in and he’s _benching_ me. Against the _Pens_ , damn it,” Jimmy hustles to Brady’s side and he’s leading the way to the metro north. Brady takes and earbud out, shrugs, when Jimmy looks at him. 

“You don’t deserve it,” Brady says, quickly realizing how much of a fucking _idiot_ he is for saying that. Jimmy stops in his tracks. 

“I mean sitting. Like, you don’t deserve to be benched. Is what I’m - yeah,” Brady sounds like he’s fifteen again and trying to give a book report, and Jimmy walks again. He lets out a breath of air, and Brady sees it because it’s cold but it’s not like he was, like, looking right at Jimmy’s mouth. Definitely not. 

“Maybe I _could_ produce more, but-”

“You’re fourth on the team in points,” Brady says quickly, defensively in Jimmy's favor. Smooth, fucking smooth. Because every teammate knows how many points their other fucking teammate has. Jimmy looks Brady in the eye, quirks a brow, smiles brightly when Brady sighs. Jimmy bumps his hip into Brady’s, playfully. Like dudes do. 

“You’ve always been my biggest fan,” Jimmy states, and it’s just a fact. He leaves it out there, and Brady chuckles automatically. _In your dreams_ , 2018 Brady would say. 

“Always, Ves,” 2019 Brady says.

-

They lose 7-2 to the Penguins. At home. It’s shit. 

Jimmy’s waiting in his suit when the guys come off, fist bumping no one until Brady comes off behind Stromer, and he leaves his fist out. Brady smiles, strained, lightly touching his gloves to Jimmy’s warm, not sweaty knuckles. 

They get a ride back to their apartment, and it’s silent, respectively. Brady knows he didn’t play like complete shit, like - one of their two goals was a deflection on _his_ shot. Still, he doesn’t take it lightly. He just feels, like, emotional. He always has this weight on his shoulder but it’s weighing him down more tonight. 

Brady walks in the door a few seconds behind Jimmy, and Jimmy’s powering up the Xbox, without a word. Brady flops onto the couch, and Jimmy hears him, because he’s looking behind his shoulder at Brady, smiling. Brady can’t _not_ smile back. 

They don’t really know how long they play for. Their playing a couple rounds and then it’s five rounds and then it’s past one, but they don’t care. They’ve got their feet on the coffee table, sitting on the couch, almost close enough to be touching. Jimmy’s playing as the Rangers and Brady as the Canucks, because why the fuck not. 

And it’s not long into round ‘whatever’ when Jimmy’s sailing up the ice, but it’s videogame Brady, and he sauces one to videogame Jimmy. Brady’s thumbs aren’t as quick as Jimmy’s and virtual Jimmy fires a wrister, much like he can in real life, and it goes high glove. 

_“What a play by Brady Skjei to Jimmy Vesey to go up 1-0!”_

Pixelated Jimmy and Brady hug. 

Brady breathes. “Y’know, I’m gay,” and Brady closes his eyes, squeezes his controller, opens them and the world doesn’t end. Jimmy’s looking at him, really looking. His expression isn’t readable, but Brady’s shaking a lot so it’s not like he could read it anyway. Jimmy knocks their knees together.

“Brady,” Jimmy lets the word hang between them it’s everything and not enough. Brady sets his controller to the side and Jimmy follows. Brady tilts his head back, breathes, because he’s never done anything remotely like this before. He feels Jimmy’s hand go to his knee and it’s warm, comforting and he really can’t look at Jimmy. He does anyway. 

Jimmy smiles, warmly, genuinely and Brady’s chest does this weird flipping thing. Brady nods, like he’s fully clarifying. _Yes, Jimmy, I like dudes_ , he definitely doesn’t say. Contemplates it though, but- 

“You good?” Jimmy’s eyes had turned a little more to worry, and Brady doesn’t realize that he’s taking really deep breaths. He nods, noticing now of all times that Jimmy’s other hand, fingers, rather, are touching his hip and he most certainly _can’t_ breathe. 

Brady licks his lips. They’re chapped. “Yeah, I’m -” Jimmy rubs his thumb on Brady knees. Brady’s not sure if he really, you know. _Can_. Anymore. 

“I’m gonna go to bed, now” Brady murmurs, and he’s standing up, and he almost falls and Jimmy grabs his wrist, forcefully. Brady looks at him and fuck, he really is worried but Brady just walks. Away. 

Brady doesn’t sleep much that night, leaves the bedside lamp one just - just in case.

Doesn’t take a lot of time to recall that all Jimmy said was _“Brady”_ and _“You good”_ and that pulls the covers over his head and buries his face into his pillow. It’s not warm. 

-

They win a couple on the road, Jimmy and Brady play every game, Jimmy scores. Brady gets two assists. 

They’re in some hotel in Vegas, both of them finalizing that they’re not going out with the team, not after Haysie almost passed out in LA back in October. 

The hotel gets their room wrong. There’s one queen bed and _fuck_. 

Brady’s the first one to enter, sees right away. “Fuck, them,” he grumbles because _fuck them_. Jimmy puts his hand on Brady’s shoulder as he’s passing through the door, like Brady’s a railing. Brady wishes he was a fucking railing, doesn’t think it would be too bad. 

“They gave us one queen,” Brady says, like it wasn’t already completely fucking obvious. Jimmy looks at him, shrugs his back off his shoulder. 

“We can share,” Jimmy says easily. “No use in paying extra to switch rooms or some shit.” Brady puts his bag next to Jimmy’s, doesn’t follow Jimmy to the bathroom, lays down on the bed. 

“Not like we haven’t shared before,” Jimmy calls from the bathroom, the water on low, trickling down the drain. Brady rubs his eyes, smiles as the stupid memory from when they were rookies. Fuck, Brady wishes he was 21 again. 

“Good bonding experience!” Jimmy sticks his head out the bathroom door before the rest of his body and Brady laughs, his body shaking on the hotel mattress. 

Jimmy makes him laugh, a lot. He wants someone that makes him laugh like that. 

-

The Rangers aren’t as bad _as_ they were in, like, December (cause fuck December always) but they’re still not like the fucking Lightning. They get into a little groove. Home, away, home away. Then it’s home, home, home, home, home. Brady and Jimmy get to stay home more. Brady likes it there more. 

He doesn’t like to think about it, often. The night of the Pens game. He thinks about how _good_ Jimmy’s been to him. He prays it’s not out of pity, tries to shelve the thought to the back of his mind, doesn’t work. 

They go to Winnipeg in February, they lose, hotel fucks up again. This time, they say nothing. Brady was a minus two for the night, tries not to act like an ass to Jimmy, cause - you know. He’s Jimmy. 

They crawl into bed, and Brady wants to sleep. Fuck time change, even if it wasn’t even that much later there. Their both laying on their backs, knowing well that they don’t fit that way without touching shoulders slightly. Brady’s half asleep when he feels a nudge from Jimmy. 

“Brady,” Jimmy breathes, and it takes a couple moments to register that Jimmy’s trying to ask something. 

Brady hums in response. Jimmy presses his arm against his, swiftly. Brady feels warm, isn’t sure why. 

Jimmy blinks. “Have you ever kissed a guy?” It’s abrupt but it’s also late, so Brady can’t comprehend how fucking out of context this is. Brady squirms, a bit.

“No,” and it rolls off of Brady's tongue in disgust because he _hates_ lying to Jimmy, but - “Why?” Brady manages to squeak, but he’s out before Jimmy gets to answer. Jimmy shivers. Shifts onto his left side, toward Brady. He’s closer now.

They share a room again, in Carolina. They win in a shootout, and Jimmy gets the game winner in it. Brady’s the first off the bench, skating to Jimmy. Hugging Jimmy, because that’s what you’re supposed to do. When the guy you - that’s just what you’re supposed to do. 

They go out for a while, drink a little, there’s a drunken haze when they get back to the hotel room. Jimmy strips into boxers, Brady the same, though ops for a tshirt. They get into bed, lazily, sluggish, mostly cause they’re tired but the alcohol didn’t bode well with it. 

It feels like hours that they’re there, laying together. It’s - it’s quiet. A new normal between them, a nice one. 

Brady yawns, obnoxiously. “What was your New Year’s resolution, Ves?” Jimmy laughs, though it’s mostly breath. He flicks Brady’s hand, subconsciously, because they’re so damn close, really. 

“Never made one,” Jimmy scoffs, what Brady’s expecting. Brady chuckles to himself, Jimmy straining his neck to look at him as he does. He looks back at the ceiling. 

“What was yours?” Jimmy prompts, hopes he’s awake enough to answer seriously, when, in reality, Brady’s been more serious - lately. Tries not to think about it. 

Brady breathes, rubs his thumb over Jimmy’s hand. The room’s still, now. “To be true to myself,” and if this were Haysie he were talking to, he’d be taunted, but this is - it’s just Jimmy. 

Jimmy chokes on a breath. “Oh,” is all he says, before laying his hand on top of Brady’s. He intertwines their fingers, without a word. 

Brady lays his head on Jimmy’s shoulder, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that he’s doing a good job with his resolution. Or maybe he just doesn’t hear it.

-

Brady gets _really_ drunk after they beat the Lightning at home.

Everyone goes out, Jimmy’s the DD even though they don’t even fucking drive. 

Jimmy’s not sure why Brady’s like this now, tries not to realize that he hasn’t seen him get drunk like this until this year, specifically. Brady leaning against the bar, with Stromer, and he’s reaching for another drink. Jimmy’s feet are taking him over there, toward Brady, and his hand is grabbing his wrist. 

Brady furrows his eyebrows, Jimmy’s mouth is just open. Brady must be good at reading expressions, because he sets the drink down and Jimmy sighs, relief. Or-

“Apartment?” Jimmy asks quickly. Brady looks around the room, almost losing his balance and _fuck_ , Jimmy knows it’s going to be a long night. He helps Brady away from the bar and they’re leaving, getting in a cab, walking up the stairs to their apartment and Jimmy doesn’t leave Brady’s side. 

They have two beds, so Jimmy helps Brady into his. Leaves his door open, for good measure.

Brady walks in not even fifteen minutes later, Jimmy moves over. Brady can’t feel his toes and his head hurts like a bitch but maybe if he just, like, stayed here, with Jimmy, it’d be - it’d be better. For him. Them. 

Brady’s out in five minutes. Jimmy’s got his arm around his waist, leaning towards him. Their noses are touching, barely. Just - yeah.

“I care,” Jimmy just says - whispers, almost - and he knows Brady can’t hear him. He just - he wants him to know. That he cares.

-

He doesn’t ask until March. Jimmy doesn’t ask until after they play the Red Wings, at home. Jimmy doesn’t go out, Brady does. Jimmy’s sitting on the couch, quiet, content on listening to some music with earbuds. 

The door cracks open past two, and Brady’s walking through it. His fists are clenched, he’s just - he just feels anxious, really. He’s dragging his feet over to their couch, and Brady sits beside Jimmy without a word. Jimmy takes his earbuds, Brady’s breathing. It’s even, soothing. And Jimmy - 

“Are you into me or something?” Brady almost chokes on air. Jimmy’s waiting, knowing that this might not be the best time considering Brady’s been out for a few hours, but he’ll have to be sober enough. 

Brady - he’s just - he can’t even fucking talk. His hands are shaking and _fuck_ , he really can’t look at Jimmy. He crosses his arms - hugs himself, practically - and he’s sweating but he really just can’t. 

Jimmy waits, knows inside Brady won’t speak. It’s not that Brady just won’t, he just _can’t_. 

Jimmy sucks in a breath. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know. If you did,” and Jimmy’s just making it _worse_. Brady gets off the couch, abruptly. Jimmy’s eyes follow him up and his hands twitch, like he just wants to reach for Brady, or - or help him somehow. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Brady’s voice shakes, he can’t help it. It's worse than the Penguins game. _He wouldn’t mind_. How is that supposed to make him feel at all better? He’s just - Jimmy doesn’t - Brady doesn’t even know what _he_ wants, let alone Jimmy. 

“I - you -” Brady falters and Jimmy stands up. Brady wants to back up into the wall behind him, melt into it and never have to deal with this. 

Jimmy circles around the couch, slowly. Like Brady’s a scared animal, like he’ll run away at any second. Brady eyes him closely, and he’s still waiting for some sort of answer. 

“In - in college,” Brady quivers, and Jimmy’s expression drops, drops more than before. Brady’s looking at Jimmy, and then he’s back in Minnesota. He sees him - Kyle - and fuck, Brady could cry. 

“I - a teammate,” Brady’s not making any sense, but Jimmy’s walking closer and his expression, it’s worry. Then Jimmy’s there, he’s right in front of Brady and Brady’s eyes sting and he feels like a fucking _child_. 

“Brady, you’re not eighteen anymore,” Jimmy says and it’s _pained_ , desperate. Brady takes a sharp breath. 

“What do you want?” Jimmy’s almost whispering this and he barely gets the words out before Brady’s kissing him and Jimmy’s kissing back. 

It’s not chaste, Brady just wants. He’s wanted this since they were twenty one - young, stupid rookies. 

Jimmy’s hands get tangled in Brady’s hair and Brady puts his on Jimmy’s face and _what is breathing_. 

At some point, Brady’s pulling away but only to take Jimmy’s hand and pull him to his bedroom. Thinks briefly of how he didn’t know what Jimmy meant when he said he wouldn’t mind. Saves the thought for later.

They’re on Brady’s shirt, they’re kissing, fast, Brady’s shirt comes off. Then it’s Jimmy’s. Brady’s shifting, so Jimmy’s almost on his back, propping himself up on his elbows. They get in a rhythm, and it’s easy, and Brady’s relieved and fucking terrified.

He pulls away at some point, breath gone. “I want to,” nods at Jimmy’s belt, let’s his fingers inch toward his hip. Jimmy hisses when his fingers touch the skin above his belt, nods, giving Brady permission. 

Brady’s undoing his belt, and he’s throwing it behind him. Then it’s Jimmy’s pants, the zipper is down and Brady can’t even take them off all the way because of time, there’s so little of it. Jimmy closes his eyes, let’s Brady - let’s Brady. It’s all too much, maybe for both of them, when Brady gets his mouth around Jimmy, and Jimmy’s biting his lip to keep from completely embarrassing himself with all the sounds he wants to make. 

Brady works, and wants to pretend he hasn’t done this before but he can’t pretend. He tries not to think of college, of him, but he looks up from between Jimmy’s legs, still working, and it’s _Jimmy_. He’s got his eyes closed, lips parted now. Brady hears the little noises that Jimmy’s making, drinks them in. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands until Jimmy connects Brady’s right one with his, intertwining their fingers over Jimmy’s thigh. 

Brady doesn’t know how long he’s been at this before he feels Jimmy’s legs shake beneath him, and Jimmy’s squeezing the fuck out of his hand. Jimmy comes on Brady’s face, with his name on his lips. Brady’s jeans feel way too fucking small and Jimmy gestures to the spot next to him. Brady crawls over to him, making a small gesture to wipe his face, not really succeeding. 

Jimmy returns the favor, and it’s not long before Brady can feel his heartbeat in his ears, he’s finishing, and no one has ever made him feel like this before. 

Brady rests his head on Jimmy’s shoulder, both of them covered by the blanket on Brady’s bed. Jimmy’s hand is laid on Brady’s chest, rising up and down with Brady’s steady breaths. 

Jimmy gently moves his hand up to Brady’s chin, turns Brady head towards him. It’s Jimmy that leans in, connecting his lips with Brady’s so delicately, kiss until Brady can’t think about anything except Jimmy. 

When they pull apart, finally, it’s past four, and it’s hard for Brady to fathom that just three hours ago, he couldn’t have any of this. Now he’s _here_ , laid against Jimmy’s chest, knows for sure he won't be leaving this anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> i always include a little life update so i went to nashville to see the rangers vs preds game (hell yeah rangers won) and basically i wore my regular brady skjei jersey and i also brought my brady skjei college jersey (when he played with minnesota) and i held it up at warmups and brady himself saw me, smiled, and threw me a puck. iM. this is why brady skjei is my favorite player.


End file.
